


Burnt

by Ten8cinator



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: I can't guarantee all characters will be canon accurate but I try, I try all the time, No Player, Not shipping - Freeform, Potential Spoilers, Read at Your Own Risk, The switch has been turned OFF, but interpret this how you will, could be considered platonic batter/zacharie, headcanons galore, in this institutionnnn, lots of oozy black goodness, soul searching, the batter discovers free will, zacharie has some major sassarie later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ten8cinator/pseuds/Ten8cinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The switch is now on OFF, and without the Player to control him, the Batter should be free to do as he pleases. It seems his work is not yet finished however, as the specters he once fought have returned, and with them, a grisly realization about an NPC that had once served him so graciously. Is the Batter willing to go through all of this again? How are the Guardians, the Elsen, and the rest of the inhabitants taking this development? And what's this all got to do with the merchant?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnt

"The real Zacharie is not here."

A light, airy chuckle just behind the Batter echoed into the blackness and seemed to wrap around his head. That was not Zacharie's voice. It was decidedly feminine, and as she spoke the hairs across his nape stood on end and a chill went down his spine.

"I've been impersonating him for some time now. I knew it would draw you here. Impressive, n'est-ce pas?" The last sentence was a cruel mockery of the merchant, twisted as she laughed, a sound akin to the shattering of glass. The Batter spun around and swung blindly, striking the dusty air left in her wake. _He'd missed._ Her laugh was much father away now, distorted and echoing through the chamber. The Batter grit his teeth, assuming an attack stance, his Add-Ons at the ready as they hummed with energy behind him. The echoing of soft footsteps alerted his senses; she wanted him to find her, but not _that_ easily.

How could he have allowed himself to be fooled by such a foul creature? How could he have been lured in by that welcoming promise of new goods for sale, and _not_ have been caught off-guard? Shame burned in the Batter's mind as he vainly tried to recall something that might've set him off had he paid closer attention- a strange note in the merchant's charismatic tone, an air of decay or impurity about the shop which the facade of Zacharie has beckoned him towards. But he'd been tricked, and before he'd known it the entire room was enveloped in darkness.

"Of course, you should know this by now, holy-man. I can only imitate those that I have killed." She paused, and he could feel her sadistic grin even through the dense pitch. "Or mortally wounded. Same thing, really."

He was absolutely furious. He should've waited and calculated a plan, a strategy of some sort that did not end in calamity, but for reasons incomprehensible in his enraged state of mind the thought of this specter harming Zacharie made the Batter's blood boil. He did not dwell on the other possibility. The merchant was not dead, he told himself repeatedly, now approaching the ever-elusive impurity with his bat raised. He was certain through some otherworldly intuition that the merchant was safe; he wasn't entirely certain that the merchant _could_ die to begin with. The Add-Ons rushed forward, their white light illuminating the room somewhat, and in the far right corner the Batter could see a shadow of a figure. She looked small and frail, an easy target, but as the Batter charged towards her the specter suddenly gave a sharp, high-pitched cry. The cracking of bones growing and snapping shattered the silence. The vermiform creature grew about three times her original size, disproportionate limbs stretching to the ground and curling in on themselves with multiple sharp appendages. The Add-Ons surrounded her, and with this new light the Batter could make out the horrifying spectacle that was her face; hundreds upon hundreds of beady, bloody eyes with rows of razor-sharp teeth to match. They jutted out in a random fashion, almost encircling the lower half of her jaw, and as the Batter's grip on the weapon slackened, she laughed again.

"Not scared, are you, dear purifier?" She sensed his weakness. He was afraid and she savored it like a delicacy, her toothy grin growing in grotesque glee. He glared at the specter, itching to bust her face in, but the question that plagued his mind had to be answered first. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but his tone was sharp and utterly venomous towards the creature.

"Where is Zacharie?"

A ripping, guttural noise split through the darkness. The Batter assumed that the specter had grown another disgusting appendage, until he heard a groan in the same direction of the sound. He turned rapidly on his heel, eyes wide, tracing the room for any sign of-

_"Zacharie?"_

He saw, just barely, a huddled mass in the adjacent corner, trembling and bleeding and the Batter felt his legs pull forward before his mind gave the initiative to run. No sooner had he broken into a sprint than the Add-Ons appeared in front of him, blocking his path. The Batter was confused; they did not allow him to pass, the faint hum of their illuminated forms considerably louder. He wanted to rush towards the masked man, to help Zacharie, but as he searched his mind for a reason why his senses seemed to cloud over. The urge was not his own. The feeling he'd experienced moments prior was not unfamiliar, and he'd given into it like a second nature.

As if he would ever allow himself to be controlled by a puppeteer's strings once more.

The room echoed with cruel cackling, and it took the Batter a moment to recognize that the noise was coming from Zacharie. Or rather, the impersonation of him. As the haze dissipated from the Batter's mind, the look-alike appeared less and less like the merchant. A foul black substance oozed from the rim of the mask as smoke engulfed the creature's form. The image was so disturbing that the Batter barely registered the specter behind him until it used one of its grotesque limbs to slash at him. He caught the brunt of the attack with his bat, the force of which causing him to fall to his knees.

"Your emotions betray you, dear purifier," she hissed. "It's so lovely how susceptible you are to my manipulation. Tell me, would it not be easier if you could feel nothing?" The Batter swung at her offending appendage, satisfied by the crack he received in return. She merely grew more amused. "Your mind is like an open book; it is no small wonder how easily you could be controlled by an anonymous puppeteer that hid behind a screen." A swing and a miss. "I know that you are pondering the origins of your vision. You see, in his feeble attempts to subdue me, the merchant pulled quite the outrageous stunt. The only way he saw fit to increase his chance, as he lay there, defeated."

The Batter froze, but it made no difference in the turn of the battle as the specter merely taunted him. His mind raced with reckless abandon as he clung to her every word, slowly sinking into realization the more her devilish smile widened.

"The visions I supply are merely recounts of events that have already occurred."

_Zacharie had become an impure._

 

~~~~~

 

 

The Batter removed his bat from the liquid plastic, watching the remainder of the specter's foul fluids wash away from it's pure surface. He did not like the way that the creature had made him feel. The purifier was not to be controlled ever again, never to be tained or used based on the simplest of commands or desires. He idly wondered why she egged him on, only furthering in his attempt to subdue her. He wondered why he was even pondering the subject to begin with. Having his own thoughts about him was entirely new, and more than a bit unsettling, but the Batter enjoyed this freedom. Another opportunity laid out before him, unobtainable if he were to remain under a puppeteer's eye.

He turned away from the edge of the sea, letting the bat drag dully behind him in his loosened grip. More roads of opportunity opened up the longer he let his mind roam. He wondered why he'd even fought the specter to begin with. The answer seemed ridiculously simple. That was what he was supposed to do. He was the Batter, a holy man, and his quest was to bring purity to the zones. Why? Because he was _meant_ to, because the puppeteer led him to do so.

He froze, as the true nature of the situation clicked into place, as cruel realization dawned on him. Nothing bound him in place, and yet the Batter felt as if he were rooted to the spot by some unseen force. Did this understanding make his quest all for naught? What, then, should he do? He could not tell whether the urge to continue was of his own volition, but considering what was beyond his holy escapade brought him an unusual pain. If he were to eliminate every impure that stalked the zones, he would no longer have a purpose. He supposed that by default, without the game running, all who roamed here existed without a goal. Was it now his own choice to decide what to do? The Batter was not a man of inquisition; he blindly went along with whatever the script told him to do, and for some reason that now brought anger and resentment into his mind, he allowed it to happen. He became-- No, he was _always_ a puppet.

"Not anymore," he said aloud.

The wood of the bat slid from his fingers and clunked heavily against the ground. He had nothing to gain from aimless wandering. He could no longer dodge the truth. And so for the first time, the Batter sat down to think. He could chart his own course now, and what he was to do with that power, he pondered quietly.

Zacharie was still a force to be reckoned with, and the Batter found that he did not desire to purify the masked man. In the fleeting moments in which they were alone, cut off from the player's watchful eyes, the Batter discovered two things about the merchant. One: He was very good at keeping a conversation, whether the recipient of his blatherings liked it or not. They did not talk about much, for the Batter was a man of very few words. And Zacharie did not demand anything that he did not expect an answer for. He was also very good at keeping quiet, oddly enough. There was a way about the merchant that the Batter couldn't formulate into words, but simply sharing a companionable silence with him was just as appealing as talking to him, whether watching the plastic waves roll by or staring vacantly at the postered walls of a monorail.

_Companionable._ That was it.

The idea sat heavy in the Batter's mind. He'd never thought twice about companionship- he'd never needed it. It wasn't necessary for his mission. A small part of him urged to rebel, to spite whatever once led him on through his dreary life. He did not think that the merchant was unpleasant; rather, the thought of him was associated with a positive feeling. Positivity was a good thing, was it not? Thus it was decided: The Batter would begin his new life with a friend. But what could be done about Zacharie? He was still impure, to the Batter's knowledge. The revelation came to him with ease. If there was no player, there was no game, thereby nullifying the rules. What was there to tell him that purifying meant killing the merchant?

He set off for Zone 0 briskly, footsteps echoing in his wake. There had to be another way.


End file.
